


In which Gil wears a new waistcoat

by Overlord_Bethany



Series: blundering onward [8]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Multi, OT3, Post-Canon, this way lies cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 23:58:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11885604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlord_Bethany/pseuds/Overlord_Bethany
Summary: Preparing for a fun night out...





	In which Gil wears a new waistcoat

Chewing his lower lip, Gil studied the waistcoat. Burgundy silk and crushed velvet, with detailing in pewter, it fell just shy of too ornate. Gil looked at the way Tarvek held it out to him, one thumb giving the shoulder seam a loving caress. Did he even know he did that?

“It won’t fit.”

Tarvek held the waistcoat a little higher. “Humor me.”

With a sigh of resignation, Gil turned to allow Tarvek to help him into the waistcoat. It felt only a little snug across his back, but as he had known all along, it would not close. He gave it a halfhearted tug. “I told you—”

“Would you stop fidgeting?” Tarvek hooked his fingers underneath both side seams and pulled downward. The fabric relaxed a little. Before Gil could comment, Tarvek gave the back of the waistcoat three short, sharp tugs. The waistcoat closed.

“Your waistcoats are adjustable?”

“Of course they are.” Tarvek spun him around and helped with the last few buttons. “I never know what I might have to hide under them.”

“Of course.” Gil watched Tarvek make a few minor adjustments. He tugged at the side seams one more time, and then he smoothed the fabric over Gil’s shoulders and chest. Then he took a step back.

“That's… wow.” Tarvek’s tongue flicked between his lips, and his gaze raked over Gil’s body. “That looks…” He cleared his throat. “Keep it. It looks better on you than it does on me.”

Not so long ago, the frank desire on Tarvek’s face would have made Gil uncomfortable. Now he barely blushed. “I can’t keep your waistcoat,” he said, shaking his head.

“You can, and you will.” Tarvek moved closer again, his hands running over the velvet. “I want to see you wearing it.”

Gil looked down at himself, then back to Tarvek. “Is this a territorial thing?”

“It’s more visible and less conspicuous than biting people.” People. They both knew Gil only bit Tarvek. He didn’t know how Agatha would react, and he wasn’t ready to find out. Not yet.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Do you want me to smack you?”

Gil broke eye contact first. “You’ll tell me if you ever stop liking it?” he mumbled. Yes, now he was uncomfortable.

“You sweet, simple creature.” Tarvek caught Gil’s lips in a slow, sensual kiss. Gil reached for him. I love you, Tarvek had said. I’ve always loved you. Always.

Gil remembered falling love with Tarvek. He remembered that first ill-timed twinge of attraction, when he had discovered someone else running his empire, and running it well. He remembered learning to trust again.

When Tarvek pushed back from him, Gil thought perhaps he had been a bit too enthusiastic, but Tarvek still kissed him. Lifting Gil’s hands into the space between them, he added cufflinks. Next came Gil’s sigil pin and a pair of collar stays. Laughing, Gil broke away.

“Have you kissed and dressed someone at the same time before?”

Tarvek dodged the question, which meant yes. “The ability to focus in any situation is an important life skill.”

“I remember a few times you couldn’t focus,” Gil said without thinking, and felt rather pleased with himself when Tarvek blushed.

“Come on,” Tarvek said, picking up Gil’s coat. “We’re going to be late.”

Gil shrugged into the coat and stood still while Tarvek smoothed it. He wanted another kiss but, as Tarvek had pointed out, they would be late if he did. He adjusted his sleeves. “You gave me Heterodyne cufflinks.”

“They’re what was in my pocket.” Tarvek propelled him out the door.

“Seriously? You just happen to have…” Shaking his head, Gil interrupted himself. “No, of course you carry spare cufflinks. It’s you.”

“If you don’t like them, you can trade them for my fleurs de lis.”

“The trilobites are fine,” Gil said, wondering what was wrong with buttoned cuffs. Not that he would bother to scandalize Tarvek with such a remark. He didn’t want a lecture on fashion.

Tarvek’s knuckles brushed against his as they walked. Gil thought about taking his hand, feeling the warmth of their palms together, the pressure of Tarvek’s fingers between his own. Instead, he picked at the waistcoat.

Wait.

“Your watch pocket has TWO hidden pockets?”

Tarvek scoffed playfully. “Doesn’t everyone’s?”

“Sure. I knew that.” Based on this new information, Gil could only assume that Violetta’s clothes were made entirely of hidden pockets stitched together.

Tarvek grinned at him. “I have no doubt.” His grin quickly faded to a frown, and he smoothed Gil’s outfit again. “How did you get so mussed already? We’ve only walked twenty meters!”

Gil wanted to protest that he had only rumpled the waistcoat around the pocket, but…

He watched Tarvek’s hands linger over the buttons. Perhaps this was just an excuse to stop, to touch. Gil tried to look away, and when he could not, he said, “Tell me you’re not going to undress me here in the corridor.”

For a moment, Tarvek’s gaze hardened, sharpened, and Gil thought he might steal a fierce kiss. Instead, he turned and walked away, leaving Gil to catch up.

Agatha waited for them by the Gate of Chimes, just as the Castle had told them she would. Gil’s breath caught at the sight of her, at the way her green silk gown gathered and draped and clung in all the right places. He almost failed to notice Jenka standing behind her, also dressed for the evening. There would be a bear around somewhere.

Tarvek strode to Agatha’s side, and he kissed her once on each hand. “You’re a vision, my love,” he said to her, pre-emptively making any comment Gil might have sound clumsy and inadequate.

Agatha didn’t give him time to sulk about it. She looked past Tarvek, and her eyes widened. “Oh…” she breathed. “Oh, you look…” She reached for Gil, and she also ran her hands over the velvet of the waistcoat.

Gil caught her by the waist and pulled her a little closer. “You win,” he said to Tarvek. “I’m keeping the waistcoat.”

“I know.”

Still comfortable in Gil’s arms, Agatha reached for Tarvek. “Thank you,” she said, and she kissed him.

Gil slid an arm around Tarvek, and he held them both. He buried his nose in Agatha’s hair, inhaled its sweet fragrance. He felt the warmth of their kiss.

Jenka cleared her throat. Reluctantly, Agatha released Tarvek. “Right,” she said, stepping back from Gil. “Time to go.”

Gil’s hand lingered on the small of Tarvek’s back. “I didn’t know you were accompanying us,” he said to Jenka. Tarvek did a poor job of not rolling his eyes.

“Hy is hyuz chaperone,” Jenka informed him. Apparently, Tarvek and Agatha knew already.

“Chaperone?” Gil repeated. “Aren’t we… ah, a bit past all that?”

Jenka grinned at him. “No, silly. Hy keeps hyu three from damaging de cast on opening night.”

“Mechanicsburg tradition,” Tarvek informed him, as though he should know already. Gil stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Agatha slipped her hand into the crook of Gil’s elbow. “Come on,” she said. “This’ll be fun.”

“Hokay. No vun has incendiary devices or death rays?”

“No,” the three Sparks chorused. Gil suspected Tarvek might be lying just a little.

Agatha took Tarvek’s arm as well, and together they set out into the crisp Mechanicsburg evening. Opening night. Gil had no idea what to expect, and that delighted him. Tarvek seemed to have researched the subject. Of course he had. That just about spoiled the fun of it.

On the way to the theatre, Gil considered a remark the Castle has made just the other day. “My Mistress is setting a fashion for young ladies stepping out with a gentleman on each arm.” Agatha had replied that one for each arm was the perfect number to have, regardless of the number of arms one should possess.

They certainly felt fashionable. A crowd had gathered to watch them ascend the broad steps in front of the theatre. Agatha beamed at them all, adoring each citizen, each abomination of science with equal warmth and welcome. They cheered for their Heterodyne, and she radiated joy. Tarvek basked in the attention, confident that Mechanicsburg liked him, but content in his current place as a pretty decoration to make Agatha shine all the brighter. Gil felt nothing but self consciousness. He kept his spine straight, his shoulders squared, but he wanted to slink away into the night. Opening night, in his experience, meant explosions. He didn’t want to ruin Agatha’s evening.

Jenka steered them upstairs to the Heterodyne’s private box, which someone had thoughtfully furnished with a three-seat settee. It rested on clawed feet, and monster skulls grinned from every corner. Agatha claimed the center cushion. Tarvek might have waited for a proper invitation, but she took his hand and tugged him down beside her. Gingerly, Gil took the remaining seat. He sank into the plush red upholstery.

“You won’t break it.” Agatha wrapped an arm around his waist and tried to pull him closer to her. He obliged, sliding over until he felt the warmth of her against his side. Was it appropriate to flirt before the house lights went down? How did he not know the rules for this kind of situation?

Tarvek eyed him across Agatha. “Would you relax? It’s the theatre. It’s not an execution.”

Easy for Tarvek to say. Tarvek already knew every nuance of etiquette for every situation, probably even ones that had been obsolete for decades.

Gil looked at Tarvek, at his arched eyebrow. Watching him. Judging him. Fine. Tarvek wanted him to relax? He could do that. Maintaining defiant eye contact, Gil stretched his legs out in front of him, crossed his ankles, and eased an arm around Agatha’s shoulders. She made a small noise of contentment and leaned closer against him. Gil smirked. Tarvek’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw set into a hard line, but he said nothing.

“Stop it, both of you,” Agatha said, but she gave Tarvek’s hand and Gil’s knee playful squeezes. Gil held her close. Tarvek slid his arm around Agatha’s waist, but he only kept still for a minute before he surreptitiously began to tickle Gil’s hip. Agatha pretended to glare at him. “I said stop.”

“Stop doing what?” Tarvek then tickled Agatha as well. She squeaked.

“Stop! Oh, I will smite you.”

Tarvek gave her his sincerest, most guileless expression. “Please?”

“Please, WHAT?” Agatha demanded, imperious, Sparky threats dancing in the undertones of her voice. Tarvek smirked at her.

“Please, Lady Heterodyne?”

“No good.” Smiling, she curled against Gil’s side once more. Tarvek waited all of thirty seconds before he resumed tickling them both. Gil struggled against reacting.

“Seriously, don’t smite him.”

“I won’t.” Agatha smothered a giggle as she kissed Gil’s cheek. “Not unless he says it.”

Tarvek leaned closer, pinning Agatha against Gil, and he tickled more vigorously. Agatha looked at Gil. Gil looked at Agatha, and they grinned. Gil slid his knee beneath both of Agatha’s legs, and he pushed back. A little leverage popped her right up into his lap. She turned, planted both feet on Tarvek, and shoved him against the arm of the settee. Laughing, he made a show of trying to squirm away, but not so much as to muss his clothing.

“Yield!” Agatha demanded.

Tarvek grinned at her. “Or you’ll smite me?” He tickled her ankles. She pushed harder, and Gil leaned into the corner of the settee, providing her better leverage.

“I WON’T smite you.”

Anything but contrite, Tarvek held her gaze and lowered his voice to a sultry growl. “Please,” he said. “Mistress.”

With a cry of victory, Agatha sprang from Gil’s lap into Tarvek’s arms. Tarvek’s disappointment at not making her blush didn’t last, and Gil watched their kiss with growing hunger. He could slide across the cushions to them. He could capture them both, could steal kisses for himself…

Hot breath on the back of his neck reminded him that they were not alone. Slouching down in his seat, Gil tipped his head back and met Füst’s disapproving stare. He gave the bear a weak smile.

The house lights dimmed. Gil glanced toward Agatha and Tarvek again. They hadn’t noticed. Gil thought about nudging Agatha, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Instead, he reached across and poked Tarvek in the side of his head. Ready for a fight, Tarvek broke away from the kiss, but when he saw that the theatre had darkened, he placed a last, quick kiss on Agatha’s neck as he eased her back into her own seat. The curtain rose.

In the dark, Gil slid an arm around Agatha’s waist. Sighing a happy sigh, she leaned against him. This felt too right. Almost normal. Was he capable of normal?

A light caress trailed over the back of his hand as it rested on Agatha’s hip. Gil sat up a little and peered across the top of Agatha’s head. Tarvek seemed to stare at the stage, but his fingers interlaced with Gil’s, and his thumb moved in small circles. Agatha’s hand had found his knee, and she dragged her fingernails across it in a lazy motion that sent a shiver through his entire body. Gil pressed his lips together and focused on taking slow, steady breaths. He felt loved. He felt wanted. He wondered if he had ever felt so much in his entire life.

He closed his eyes, he rested his cheek against Agatha’s hair, and he gave Tarvek’s hand a squeeze. Normal. Maybe this could be. Smiling to himself, Gil settled back to enjoy the evening.


End file.
